


Beloved/Enemy

by codedredalert



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Cute, F/M, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Soulmate AU, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-08-17 10:58:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8141392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codedredalert/pseuds/codedredalert
Summary: Everyone gets a name on each wrist when they turn eight— one is their enemy’s name and the other is their soulmate’s. Figuring out which is which is not always easy.-- (insp.)





	1. Kageyama

**Author's Note:**

> Relationships intended as open to interpretation. "Endgame pairings" are spoilers imo. However, if you ABSOLUTELY MUST, [here](http://oredginals.tumblr.com/post/154277635866/belovedenemy-shipping-chart)'s the chart.  
> [Optional spoiler-free shipping worldbuilding explanation here](http://oredginals.tumblr.com/post/154274571626/belovedenemy-ship-mechanic).  
> I would use the tags for red, pale and black romance but somehow that's really embarrassing outside the hs fandom... 

 

The names of Kageyama’s fated people appeared on his wrists when he was eight—翔陽 on his left, and 徹 on his right.

 _Shouyou_ was hard to read, so Kageyama was certain Shouyou would be his enemy. The name was pretty, but troublesome. He had needed help for the second kanji.

The second name could be read in lots of ways, which was exciting! It could be _Akira_ , _Itaru_ , _Osamu_ , _Tsuyoshi_ , _Tooru_ , _Michi_ … There were one hundred and eighty-four possible names for Kageyama’s second fated person. Kageyama memorised all of them.

===/\===

After many, many false alarms (why did one of his fated people have to have such a versatile name) there was one person whose eyes went wide in shock when Kageyama handed in his application form to join the Kitagawa Daiichi volleyball club.

“How do you read this?” demanded the brunette second year, holding up the form and pointing at the last two kanji in Kageyama’s name. “ _Hiyuu_? _Hio_?”

Kageyama’s heart lifted in joy.

“ _Tobio_ ,” said Kageyama eagerly. “I’m Kageyama Tobio. What’s your name?”

“Oikawa Tooru,” replied the brunette, oddly cold. Kageyama didn’t understand. This was his _Tooru_ , he’d finally found one half of his fated people.

Tooru was everything Kageyama had ever hoped for—handsome, clever, skilled, popular, talented. He was a setter, just like Kageyama, and he could already jump serve! Tooru was _perfect_.

There was another second year, tan with short dark hair and dark eyes, who always looked over in a mixture of concern and interest when Kageyama spoke to Tooru. That other second year, Kageyama later learned, was Iwaizumi Hajime. After watching Tooru and Iwaizumi play in a match, after seeing how Tooru laughed when he was with Iwaizumi, Kageyama understood.

Tooru’s wrists said _Hajime_ and _Tobio_.

When Kageyama found out, it nearly broke his heart.

===/\===

In the first match of Kageyama’s last junior high championship, there was a boy in an ugly green court jersey with bright orange hair. Kageyama could see the top of the boy’s head without even trying. Kageyama didn’t laugh when the boy said he intended to win the championship. 

The boy jumped so high that the ceiling light that lit his silhouette nearly blinded Kageyama.

After Kageyama had won, the boy came running after him. He shouted something dramatic through his tears. He looked so small, halfway up the flight of stairs but only a couple of heads taller than Kageyama.

Kageyama didn’t catch his name.

===/\===

Tooru and all the other people from Kageyama’s own year went to Aoba Jousai, so Kageyama couldn’t bring himself to apply there. It was stupid and sentimental and cowardly, but with almost-perfect, hateful Tooru setting for them, they didn’t need Kageyama.

(Iwaizumi was there, with Tooru. Of course he was. If Tooru treated Kageyama like he treated Iwaizumi, Kageyama would follow him to the ends of the earth too.)

No recommendations came, so Kageyama applied to Shiratorizawa and failed.

He went to Karasuno instead, in search of the famed Coach Ukai, but luck was not on his side. Ukai wasn’t there anymore. Kageyama joined anyway.

On his very first day at Karasuno, the orange-haired boy walked onto the court, wearing the same maroon tracksuit as Kageyama.

 ===/\===

Eight-year-old Kageyama had been correct, unfortunately. _Shouyou_ was troublesome, and was thoroughly convinced that Kageyama was his One True Enemy. Kageyama didn’t blame him. Even though Kageyama _knew_ otherwise, he sometimes felt like Shouyou was his enemy too.

Sugawara, the third year setter and Kageyama’s competition for the starter position, put in a lot of work with Shouyou, until Kageyama began to wonder about the names on Suga’s wrists. Kageyama wondered if it was possible to be the One True Enemy of two people, and he wondered if one of Suga’s wrists said _Shouyou_ too.

Suga was one of the people who hid their fated people’s names. He wore wristbands and long sleeves and adhesive bandages, but one day, in between slipping off his shirt and sticking on his Band-Aids, Kageyama caught a glimpse of Suga’s left wrist.

 _Daichi_. The kanji was easy to read, easier when Kageyama watched the way Suga looked at the Karasuno captain when Suga thought no one was looking.

Daichi was not one of the people who hid their fated people’s names. His wrists were wide open to the world every time he made a receive. Daichi’s fated people were _Tetsurou_ and _Yui_.

Sugawara’s given name was _Koushi_.

Kageyama hadn’t known that such bad luck was possible. He felt bad at the pang of relief he got when he double checked Shouyou’s right wrist straight after to see _Tobio_ , black and stark as always. Kageyama tried to be nicer to Suga after that. He wasn’t sure if he succeeded, because he really was bad with people, but he tried.

===/\===

Kageyama was by Shouyou’s side when Shouyou met _Wakatoshi_ for the first time. Kageyama saw Shouyou’s face light up with something passionate and terrible, and when Shouyou leaped forward, Kageyama was convinced that it was for the express purpose of ripping the national player’s face off with his bare hands.

“We’re going to beat him,” swore Shouyou as they walked out of Shiratorizawa together. “We’ll show mister Japan-man who’s strongest.”

Kageyama was touched by Shouyou’s unconscious use of ‘we’ and nodded once in firm agreement. Then, because he knew Shouyou wasn’t thinking right then, he took Shouyou’s left hand in his own and lifted it slightly.

Shouyou rounded on him, eyes still feral and small frame still shaking with anger and hurt.

“What do you want?” he demanded, but he didn’t pull his hand away. Kageyama turned their hands, loosening his grip so Shouyou could see.

“Japan-man is Ushijima Wakatoshi,” said Kageyama simply. There was only one way to read the kanji on Shouyou’s left wrist.

Shouyou’s eyes flickered to their interlaced fingers, and then to his own wrist. It took him a moment.

“Oh,” said Shouyou. Then, again, “ _oh_.”

Kageyama nodded. Shouyou made a face.

“I guess I don’t hate you after all, Kageyama,” he said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment if you liked it. I'm open to suggestions for other characters~~~  
> (Also [on tumblr](http://oredginals.tumblr.com/post/151570249146/belovedenemy-haikyuu-soulmate-au-by)!)


	2. Kuroo part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support for the first chapter! The reception for Kags was really good so I was encouraged to write Kuroo's story! Kuroo's story is a lot darker than Kags. Please take note of warnings if any at the beginning of each chapter.

 

 

When he was six years old, Kuroo promised Kenma a place on one of his wrists. Kenma, five years old and ever so serious, said to him, “You don’t know that, Kuroo.” But Kuroo was _sure_.

On his eighth birthday, two names appeared on Kuroo’s wrists, and neither of them was Kenma.

===/\===

“Kuroo,” came Kenma’s voice through the locked door. Kuroo resolutely burrowed deeper into his pillow fort. Kenma was the last person in the world he wanted to see.

“Kuroo,” said Kenma again. “Your mom is worried, and your dad is getting annoyed. Also, I have your lunch.”

Kuroo _was_ kind of hungry.

“It’s grilled mackerel.”

Kuroo knew it was grilled mackerel without Kenma telling him, he could smell it. Besides, Mom had been by earlier, trying the same trick. Kuroo knew it was probably just meant to be something special for his birthday, but right now it was _cheating_ to use his favourite food to get him to unlock the door.

“You can leave it there,” Kuroo tried.

“Maru will eat it.”

Kenma was right. Kuroo’s family cat was named “round” for a reason.

“If you don’t want it, I’ll feed it to Maru.”

Right on cue, there was a loud, hopeful “mreow”, right outside Kuroo’s bedroom door. Knowing Kenma, he _would_ give Kuroo’s lunch to the cat. Kuroo flung the covers off.

“I want it, don’t you dare!” shouted Kuroo, unlocking the door. Maru fled, leaving Kenma standing there with the plate of mackerel, rice and pickles.

“Your mom said don’t eat in the room,” Kenma informed him, handing over the plate. Kuroo was tempted for a second to step back in and shut the door, but that would just be childish. He’d lost, no going back.

“Okay.” Kuroo closed his room door. “Let’s go to the backyard.”

“But it’s cold today,” Kenma complained. He was already in two layers and a scarf, indoors. Kuroo used his free hand and ruffled Kenma’s hair.

“Go get your coat, big baby.” Kuroo gave Kenma a push. “It can’t be _that_ cold, it’s only November.”

Kenma gave him a _look_ and Kuroo could laugh for real. They got their coats and sat outside. Kuroo’s food was cold, but it still tasted great.

They talked about school, and the coming winter break. Both their families had holiday travel plans. Kuroo was going to Shanghai and Kenma was going to Okinawa. They talked about exams, and how it was really dumb that they still had to go to school for enrichment programs while teachers had to mark their papers. They talked about the new game that came out recently, the one Kenma had been waiting for. Apparently he was already finished with it, but he was going to play again, to try for another ending. They talked until even Kuroo started to get cold.

Then at last, there was nothing else to talk about except the problem.

“You shouldn’t write on your hand,” said Kenma, finally approaching the topic in a perfectly Kenma way, matter-of-fact and carefully considered. “My teacher said ink is bad for your skin.”

Kuroo looked away.

“I don’t have your name.” Kuroo surrendered his left wrist to Kenma for inspection, though it’d been scribbled over with blue ink. He didn’t look Kenma in the eye. “Sorry. Even though I promised.”

Kenma took the offered wrist, turned it slightly.

“It’s alright,” said Kenma. “What did you get?”

“ _Daichi_ and _Koutarou_.”

“They sound nice,” commented Kenma, putting Kuroo’s wrist down gently. Kenma did everything gently, even though he wasn’t always nice. It was just a _thing_ when someone was very clever, very young—they were usually too much cleverness to have any space left over for being nice. That’s what Kuroo liked about his best friend. Kuroo wasn’t very nice either, and he didn’t want nice people’s names. He was a little scared that he wouldn’t be good enough. That they wouldn’t understand.

“I don’t _care_ ,” complained Kuroo. “I want _your_ name.”

Kenma shrugged. Kuroo could see it in the corner of his eye.

“We’re still friends,” said Kenma. “And I can go to your wedding to Daichi or Koutarou. Whoever it turns out to be.”

Kuroo scrunched his nose up, making a face.

“ _Daichi_ and _Koutarou_ are super manly sounding. I’ll just not marry anyone,” Kuroo said decisively. If he didn’t marry anyone, everything would be alright.

“Okay, Kuroo,” said Kenma, in the same way he used to say “You don’t know that, Kuroo”.

 ===/\===

On Kenma’s eighth birthday, Kuroo had to wrestle him to the floor to yank up his sleeves. _Tetsurou_ was beautifully marked on Kenma’s right wrist, over the fair skin and delicate blue-green veins.

“I told you that you didn’t want to know,” said Kenma quietly, as Kuroo stared, devastated.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked it, please let me know~~!  
> This'll go up on my [art/writing tumblr](http://oredginals.tumblr.com) as soon as I do some art for it.  
> please bribe me for updates im so bad at updating quickly ahahahahahaahaha sorry in advance 


	3. Kuroo part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: KUROO IS A BAD SMOL WHO DOES ILLEGAL THINGS PLEASE DO NOT DO THE ILLEGAL THINGS. Also, some swearing.

 

In his second year of middle school, Kuroo decided that he didn’t want to see those names anymore.

He found his way to a residential address, which he got through a private message on a forum where he’d asked how he could get a tattoo at his age. (He promptly got yelled at by a bunch of keyboard warriors, but that never stopped him from anything.) The door opened to a lady with ripped jeans, a lip piercing and an unreasonable amount of dark eyeshadow. She looked Kuroo up and down, and frowned.

“How old are you?” she asked.

“Twenty,” lied Kuroo, smiling. He was tall for his age, and today he wore a button-down shirt to try and look older.

“Uh huh.” She wasn’t buying it. He hadn’t really believed she would. “Come back in six years, kiddo.”

“I know when to keep my mouth shut and I’ll pay in cash,” added Kuroo quickly.

She chewed her lip, considering this. Kuroo wondered if that affected her lip ring in any way.

“Inside,” she decided, stepping back. Kuroo ducked in before she could change her mind.

Designs littered the walls of the apartment. The lighting was slightly dingy, but Kuroo didn’t exactly have options.

The woman double locked her doors and looked at him critically again, up and down.

“You aren’t police bait, are you?” she asked. Kuroo shook his head, but she still looked unconvinced. “I’m gonna have to pat you down to check. Nothing personal.”

“Okay,” replied Kuroo, raising his arms. She ran her hands over his shoulders, down his arms, down his chest and sides, down each leg, lifting the cuff to be sure.

“Huh,” she said, standing straight again, apparently satisfied with her search. “Alright then. What ink do you want done?”

“I want to cover these.” Kuroo lifted his wrists to show her the names. She frowned.

“First ink?” she asked. She didn’t wait for his answer. “Shit, you’re pushing me here, kid. It’ll be visible, it’ll hurt, and you’re a minor. Just wear a watch or tape over it or something.”

“I tried,” he said. “It wasn’t enough.”

She took a lot of cajoling before she even let him sit at her work bench, and she was right, it did hurt like crazy. She had to stop and tell him to relax a lot of times. She talked him through the whole thing, and complained non-stop about how boring the end result was going to be—he’d asked for a simple, solid black line around each wrist, like a bracelet.

“Hurt like a bitch, didn’t it?” she said when she finished, and was dressing his wrists. “Told you so. But you took it with minimal screaming, good job. I’ve had grown-ass men who’ve done worse than you, kid.”

Kuroo was too tired from clenching his jaw to reply intelligently to that, so he just nodded and paid her. She counted her money, nodded and kept it in her pocket.

“I like you,” she said as she saw him to the door. “You can come back when you’re much, _much_ , older. Remember, don’t tell _anyone_ who did your ink for you, got it? Not even your cute little edgy school friends.”

“Got it,” replied Kuroo, and she shut the door on him.

 

===/\===

Dad kicked Kuroo out when he found out about the tattoos, but since Kuroo just went to Kenma’s house next door, it wasn’t very effective. Mom talked him into letting Kuroo back home and eventually he agreed.

“Next time, tell me before you go off doing these things,” Mom said when she went to collect Kuroo from Kenma’s house. “I would rather you talk to me than run off to shady places that might give you tetanus or worse. I would have brought you overseas, where it’s less illegal.”  

She gave him her expensive concealer, and a thick roll of exercise tape.

“A lot of places ban tattoos,” she explained. “These should be useful, _after_ you’ve healed. Let me know if you need help dressing them, and if any teachers give you grief, you send them to me.”

Kuroo had no intention of covering his tattoos, but he nodded. He did have to direct teachers to her, several times a year. Mom was good on her word, and she never once asked him why he did it.

 

===/\===

The full meaning of “fated person” never really struck Kuroo until he met _Koutarou_.

It was a friendly match, and at first, Kuroo thought he couldn’t stop staring at the Fukuroudani spiker because of the hair, and the noise. Then they started the match, and the funky-haired spiker was _good_. Some games didn’t have a lot of net action, but this one did, and “Bokuto-kun” reacted so dramatically every time Kuroo stopped him that Kuroo couldn’t help but laugh. Kuroo reacted back too, it only seemed good manners, and besides, it was fun. The net fight was intense, even as the match wore on. Kuroo couldn’t remember the last time he had this much fun.

“You kept up with him well,” a senior remarked, after they had lost. Kuroo raised an eyebrow and put down his water bottle.

“With the white-haired spiker? Why is that surprising?”

“That’s Bokuto Koutarou. He won some prizes in middle school, and a lot of people are expecting big things from him in the regionals.”

Bokuto _Koutarou_.

Kuroo froze.

“What did you say his name was again?” asked Kuroo weakly.

“Hey, hey! Nekoma blocker guy!”

Kuroo turned and Bokuto ( _Koutarou!_ ) was running up to him, grinning broadly. Kuroo thought his heart was going to stop. During the second set, there had been a perfectly clear moment where he realised he just really wanted this person to like him. Was that pathetic? It sounded kind of pathetic in his head. And now to find out that this guy had been _Koutarou_ the whole time. (Ugh, of course he had been Koutarou the whole time, people’s names didn’t just change. Stupid!)  Kuroo bit his tongue before he said something he regretted.

“You’re great! Super!” Koutarou clapped Kuroo on the shoulder like an old friend. “Are you a first year too? We should practice together sometime! What’s your facebook?”

God, Kuroo had thought he’d loved Kenma. Kenma was comfort like night settling around the light of a candle. Kenma was nostalgia, and staying up late, and long, shared silences.

_Koutarou_ though. Koutarou was overwhelming joy, inspiration. He was like waking up on a holiday, a hundred thousand miles from home, and realising the world was made of endless possibility. He was comfort in a different way, like acknowledgement on something you’d worked so hard on that you couldn’t remember what it was like to not be tired, a relief so strong it hurt.

Koutarou got Kuroo’s name and number and facebook and Skype and a promise to play that Sunday. When he found out that Kuroo’s given name was Tetsurou, he grabbed Kuroo by the hand and dragged him back to the rest of the Fukuroudani team, announcing victoriously that he’d found his match. He’d been so happy, so proud that Kuroo was his, and all Kuroo had done was _exist_.

It was all a whirlwind, and Kuroo thought his heart would burst every step of the way, even as he did his best to play it cool, to get Koutarou’s teammates to like him too.

Fukurodani eventually left to go back to their own school. Koutarou looked so crestfallen that Kuroo imagined that this was what it might be like to have a giant puppy.

Coach called him out for not paying attention in the debrief. Fair, because he really wasn’t. He got stuck with cleaning duty and fifty serves. His serves were absolutely terrible, a combination of fatigue and distractedness. Cleaning and packing the equipment took twice as long as usual, but the routine grounded him bit by bit.

When he was finally done, when he’d finally caught his breath again, he remembered. He had to call Kenma. The world reluctantly settled back into place.

Kuroo sat with his back to the gym wall, as far away from the doors as possible, and dialled Kenma’s number from memory.

Kenma picked up. He didn’t say hello, he usually didn’t when he saw it was Kuroo calling, and there was button mashing and video game music in the background.

“I met him,” started Kuroo before Kenma said anything. The soundtrack of the video game in the background cut suddenly. Kenma took a thoughtful pause.

“Daichi or Koutarou?” asked Kenma.

“Koutarou.” Kuroo smiled a little, before biting his lip because this really wasn’t the time. 

Another pause. A long one.

“You like him.” It wasn’t a question.

“I…” Kuroo was tingly in his fingers. Just thinking of Koutarou was blinding. He hid his face in his free hand. “I do. I’m so sorry, Kenma. I really do.”

There was a shifting of fabric on the other end of the line.

“Congratulations,” said Kenma, his voice just a touch quieter than usual. The video game soundtrack in the background started again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS/ happy holidays  
> uwah, this update was so fast right it's only been 2 weeks what sorcery is this hahaha  don't get used to it  
> anyway i always love hearing from you guys 0wu


	4. Kuroo part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS PLS READ AND HEED:  
> Depression. Sexual assault (very dubious/no consent forced kiss, which gets called out). This chapter in general is a bit dark.

 

That year, Koutarou ranked second best spiker in Tokyo, and seventh best in Japan.

Kuroo was so, so incredibly proud of him. The second night Koutarou was back (not the first, Kuroo wasn’t _that_ clingy), Kuroo turned up at his door with a bag full of junk food.

“Oho, you’re _awake_!” Kuroo grinned when Koutarou opened the door. Kuroo immediately got a bone-crushing hug. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“Hey, _I_ don’t sleep past _noon_.”

Kuroo laughed obligingly and made to pull away but Koutarou was still hugging him tightly, face buried in his collarbones. Koutarou, despite how he acted on court, wasn’t that clingy either.

“You alright?” Kuroo asked.

Koutarou took one more moment, and Kuroo could feel him take a breath, warm air through the triangle of cotton that showed where Kuroo’s jacket didn’t cover, his broad back rising under Kuroo’s hands.

“I was gonna text you,” Koutarou said. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Koutarou’s hair wasn’t gelled but it was pushed back with a yellow hairband. Kuroo didn’t understand why he kept it long when he always complained about having it in his face but Koutarou did it anyway.

“It would have been easier to text you, or Skype or something,” Koutarou started, eyes down, watching his beat up sneakers eat up the sidewalk. The yellow streetlamps were harsh on the line of his neck between his hair and his jacket collar.  

“I can go round the corner and call you,” Kuroo offered and Koutarou bumped shoulders.

“Don’t be a dork, it’d kill your phone bill.”

Practicality, of course. Koutarou was a Virgo. Kuroo remembered from when he’d first gotten Koutarou’s birthday and looked it up. Virgo mood swings were purportedly vicious. Kuroo had never had to deal with one before.

“What happened?” Kuroo asked. ‘At the nationals’ he wanted to add, but Koutarou was already making a face.

Koutarou exhaled sharply.

“I thought I’d be happier,” he said, steps getting shorter. “And I’m not _sad_ , not really. I’m just… okay.”

He stopped, and looked up. Kuroo did too. The moon was a waning gibbous. “I don’t know why I’m like this. I’m so tired and I’m not getting the results I should be. I feel… mediocre.”

“You’re second best in Tokyo,” Kuroo pointed out flatly.

Koutarou made a wordless sound, somewhere between a growl and a whine.

“I _know_. It’s just. Why second? Why seventh? What did I do wrong? Should I be satisfied with this? People are congratulating me but I didn’t win. I just smile and say thanks. I’m starting to get used to second place, Kuroo. I’m okay with second place and I hate it.”

There were so many people Kuroo knew who would be pissed off by what Koutarou just said, and Kuroo was not completely exempt either. ‘How do you think I feel, when I couldn’t even get that?’ Kuroo wanted to ask, but this wasn’t the time. He could feel the words hanging there, momentous, an option on the path that would push Koutarou away.

“But volleyball is fun, right?” Kuroo asked instead.  

“I don’t know.”

Kuroo’s heart just tightened, and he couldn’t find enough air to speak for a moment. He stopped in his tracks, and looked at Koutarou, who’d stopped too. Koutarou didn’t meet his eyes.

“What?” Kuroo asked weakly.

“I don’t know,” Koutarou repeated. “Maybe a little bit, sometimes. It’s just. Frustrating, most of the time.”

“But we had fun,” Kuroo insisted, and Koutarou’s scrunched up like he was fighting tears. Kuroo abruptly felt out of his depth.

“I know I’ve had fun,” said Koutarou slowly, voice trembling slightly. “I know it here—” he tapped his temple, shaking his head. “But when I’m like this I feel like I’ve never been happy in my life. It doesn’t make sense but it’s true and I can’t talk myself out of it. It’s _stupid_.”

Kuroo turned and hugged him. Koutarou tensed at first but let him, not quite relaxing all the way but not fighting.

“Hey, maybe you need a break,” Kuroo suggested gently. Koutarou tensed again slightly.

“What’s that?” Koutarou quipped, muffled in Kuroo’s jacket and Kuroo went ‘haha’ obligingly. He wasn’t about to let Koutarou get away that easily though.

“Seriously though, I’m sure your seniors can manage without you for a bit. God forbid, but they’ll get by _somehow_ without your good looks and mad skills.”

Koutarou rolled his eyes—Kuroo could tell even without looking—and dropped his weight against Kuroo. Kuroo staggered and let go, but Koutarou was smiling.

“Stop with the flattery already.” Koutarou’s cheeks and nose were red, and so were the inner corners of his eyes.

“It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

Koutarou shook his head.

“Not doing anything is worse,” he said firmly. “No distractions and not doing anything to solve the problem. My brain just spirals down and out of control.”

Kuroo understood a little bit. Koutarou wasn’t forgiving of himself. Not dragging himself to school when he was part of the starting lineup was something he’d hate himself for even more later.  

“What can I do?” Kuroo asked.

Koutarou took Kuroo’s hand and squeezed it.

“It already means a lot that you’re here,” Koutarou said, voice wobbly. It made Kuroo feel like a mess. “Thank you.”

“For you, anything.” Kuroo said half like he was joking, but he meant it with all his heart.

 

===/\===

Kenma joined Nekoma volleyball and was a downright brilliant setter, just like Kuroo knew he’d be. It was totally worth forking out for the bribe, even though it had Kuroo bringing lunch _and_ dinner from home for a whole month.

Kenma was quieter nowadays. When Kuroo asked, Kenma said something about the third-years upsetting him. It probably wasn’t the whole story, but Kuroo talked him into staying. The first and second years were alright, and it wasn’t good for Kuroo to be his only friend.

Kenma stayed.

 

===/\===

“Tetsurou-kun.”

The voice was unfamiliar, and no one except family called him that, not even Kenma. Kuroo looked up and saw the Nohebi number six player, the slanty-eyed wing spiker with the too-smooth politeness and the suspiciously nice hair. He seemed the type that thought himself very clever, but Kuroo grew up with Kenma, so his threshold for cleverness was set rather unfairly high.

“Ah, hey. Good game,” said Kuroo, extending his hand to shake. Losers always hated it when victors congratulated them like that, and for some reason, Kuroo didn’t like this guy’s face. The Nohebi player grabbed his hand and flipped it, ran a thumb over the neat band tattooed on his wrist.

“Oh, you _would_ be that type,” Nohebi Six said, but he sounded smug instead of pissed off. “I thought they might be stick on or marker, but you went and got them done permanently. Local or overseas?”

Kuroo pulled his hand back.

“What’s it to you?” Kuroo wracked his brain for the Nohebi list of players. He’d studied them all, before the match, he knew this. Number six was … Daishou Yuu. “Yuu-kun.”

Daishou laughed, and it wasn’t a nice laugh.

“It’s pronounced _Suguru_ ,” he said, stepping in and closing the distance between them. He was quite a bit shorter than Kuroo. “Just my luck, isn’t it? You turned out to be a Nekoma blocker, and an almost decent one too.”

This was… probably a bad idea, but this guy was asking for it, and Kuroo’s favourite hobby was making bad life decisions.

“Excuse me,” Kuroo said, straightening his back to his full height so he could really look down. “But I recall _Nekoma_ winning this match. Oh my, have I been hallucinating? Because I distinctly remember blocking a spike so pathetic that I know literal middle schoolers with better technique.”

Daishou’s smile turned downright _nasty_. He pulled Kuroo sideways, and sent him stumbling back into the wall.

“I’ll break your fingers with that “pathetic” spike next time we play,” promised Daishou, one hand closing around Kuroo’s wrist and the other pulling Kuroo down by his hair. Then his mouth was on Kuroo’s and Kuroo made a surprised sound, tried to back up but there was nowhere to go, the wall behind him was cool and unyielding.

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing!”

Righteous anger throughout his tiny frame, Yaku _hauled_ Daishou off, looking about ready to commit murder.

“That’s sexual assault, asshole!” Yaku snarled. Daishou started to say something, but Yaku was like a bullet train. It was kind of amazing to watch. “Apologise before I drag you to the fucking police station and destroy your career prospects. And inform your school and coach. Now!”

Yaku actually placed a hand on Daishou’s head and forced him to do a proper ninety-degree bow to Kuroo. The whole thing was just surreal.

“You’re not his mom, Yaku.” Kuroo was doing his best not to laugh. Yaku glowered at him.

“This is a serious offence, and _you_ should treat it seriously too. Stop laughing!”

“It’s okay, let him up already.” Kuroo nodded at Daishou, whose head was still being held down by Yaku. It looked uncomfortable, besides, any longer and someone might come along and then Yaku would be the one in trouble. “I think you’ve scarred him for life. I doubt he’ll do it again.”

Yaku let up suddenly, still glaring daggers.

“I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding,” said Daishou placatingly, all charm now. Yaku’s anger had that effect on people. “I have Tetsurou’s name and he has mine. We were just… getting acquainted.”

Kuroo would applaud that composure if he wasn’t so busy trying not to die laughing.

“So _what_ , you think that means anything? You think that’s a free pass to go out there and _assault_ people?” Yaku tore the exercise tape off his own wrist. Kuroo caught a glimpse of the name—two characters— before Yaku shoved it in Daishou’s face. “Well, it means jack _shit_. I’ve got his name, and so does our setter. With this asshole, it doesn’t make you special.”

Daishou backed off, looking from Yaku’s fury to Kuroo.

“I think you’d better leave, Suguru-kun,” said Kuroo pleasantly. “And FYI, the only reason I know your name is because it’s listed on the Nohebi lineup.”  

Daishou’s face coloured as he realised what that meant. He backed up one step, then two, before his expression returned to that nasty not-smile.

“I meant what I said, Tetsurou,” he said as a parting shot, then he left before Yaku could start yelling at him again.

“Yeah, you better run,” said Yaku in a slightly raised voice, looking in Daishou’s direction with disgust. Kuroo took comfort in the fact that it was Yaku and not Yamamoto who’d found him. Yamamoto would have probably punched Daishou a couple of times. Still, no reason to yell and attract attention.

“You didn’t have to do that,” said Kuroo.

Yaku snorted, and tried to reapply the tape to his wrist, but the adhesive was already spent. He threw it in the trash with unnecessary vehemence.

“Can’t even get a ‘thank you’ from you,” muttered Yaku. “Just as well I didn’t expect one.”

Kuroo blinked in surprise at the hostility. He and Yaku weren’t exactly friends but they were teammates for a while now, and second-years with an example to set. Or did Yaku misunderstand? Anyway, Kuroo had to do damage control.

“Thank you,” he said, but it was too late. Yaku glared at him.

“I didn’t do it for you. I did it because it was right. Shouldn’t have fucking bothered, since you seem to find it hilarious that he was all over you.”

Kuroo knew Yaku well enough to know there was nothing he could say that would help right then, so he just raised his hands in surrender and gave Yaku space to storm back to the rest of Nekoma.

 

===/\===

When the team split to go home, Kuroo couldn’t help himself. He sidled over to where Yaku was packing. Yaku was almost always last to finish packing, since he had a million things to put back in his bag like the mother hen he was.

“So,” Kuroo started and Yaku looked up at him. His eyes weren’t golden like Kenma’s or Koutarou’s, instead an ashen chestnut, nowhere near as piercing. “You have my name, huh? You should have said something. Our entire one and a half years knowing each other, wasted.”

Yaku hissed an aborted curse and zipped his bag, shouldered it.

“If you had my name, I’d know,” said Yaku, brisk and derisive. “You don’t think about me except when I actually pick a fight with you. You can act cute all you want, you don’t have my name.”

And he left, head held high and with so much painfully-mustered dignity that Kuroo almost wished he did have Yaku’s name.

 


	5. Kuroo part 4

 

At summer camp, Koutarou had a first year setter with him.

 _Something’s wrong with him_ , thought Kuroo, but then Koutarou approached for a spike and Kuroo couldn’t chase that thought.

After the game, he meandered over to Fukurodani.

“Good game.” Kuroo bumped Koutarou with his shoulder and got a blinding grin.

“Yeah, today was great! I was on fire! You couldn’t even touch my cross.” Koutarou said it with an almost sly look in his golden eyes. Kuroo scowled.

“I _did_ , in the second half. I just couldn’t _stop_ it, you over-muscled oaf. There’s a difference.”

Koutarou laughed.

“Better luck next time. Train hard and maaaaybe you’ll stop me by the end of summer camp.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh now. We’ll see who’s laughing when I shut down your cross completely,” Kuroo shot back. “If you need to cry on my shoulder, I’ll be at nationals. Let me know what souvenirs you want.”

Koutarou stuck out his tongue like a five-year old and Kuroo made a face back.

“As if you’d get to nationals when we don’t!”

“Don’t brag, Bokuto-san. Nekoma’s team is easily top eight in the prefecture,” commented the first year as he walked up to them. … Akashi. Akaashi? Kuroo wasn’t sure if Koutarou just dragged out the name for fun.

Akaashi handed a water bottle and a towel to Koutarou. From this close up, the setter was kind of pretty, with dark curls and long lashes and a quiet, dead-inside intensity that no doubt came from over-caffeinated nights. He was already wearing the Fukurodani jacket, and his wrists were covered.  

“Oho, hello there, setter firstie. How’s working for this guy going for you?” Kuroo asked. Akaashi turned his dark eyes onto Kuroo.

“It’s alright.” His eyes flickered down to Kuroo’s wrists, then to Koutarou’s. “Kuroo-san.”

“My reputation precedes me,” said Kuroo in exaggerated delight, putting a hand to his heart. Koutarou laughed but Akaashi made a noncommittal noise and walked back to the rest of his team.

 

===/\===

At lunch, Kuroo plonked himself on the grass next to Koutarou’s first-year setter.

“Didn’t catch your name, firstie,” Kuroo started cheerfully. “What was it again?”

Akaashi sighed.

“Kuroo-san, if you’re going to talk to me, please don’t make yourself any more annoying than you already are,” he said flatly, sipping coke from his flimsy disposable cup. “If you want to ask me about Bokuto-san— no, he didn’t tell me you’re one of his, I figured that out for myself.”

Kuroo laughed.

“Feisty,” he said. “What gave me away?”

“Bokuto-san yells my name about twenty times per match. You’re not so stupid that you would miss that.”

“Not that, the other thing. The last thing.”

“He’s very happy to see you, and your given name is _Tetsurou_. It’s not hard to find out, even if you blackout yours.” Akaashi indicated Kuroo’s right with a sideways motion of his cup. “I’d bet that you have _Koutarou_ under that ink, which is why you always leave your team to talk to him.”

Kuroo pulled his hand back, and Akaashi raised his eyebrows.

“I was right,” remarked Akaashi. He finished his coke and put down the cup. “So what did you want, Kuroo-san?”

“Oh, just a little quid pro quo. It’s not very fair that you know mine and I don’t know yours, after all the effort I went through to hide it,” said Kuroo lightly. “C’mon, share yours. You can’t possibly be touchy about it, you were bare-wristed during the match.”

Akaashi sighed again and pulled his sleeves up.

Akaashi’s wrists both said _Koutarou_. Kuroo was so overcome with horror that he laughed for a solid two minutes. Akaashi sat through it with long-suffering patience.

“The heck is that,” said Kuroo, wiping away the tears in his eyes. “That’s amazing! And you don’t want to do anything about it?”

“Nothing I can do,” replied Akaashi, pulling his sleeves back down. He started running a thumb over the joints of his other hand. Kuroo recognised the motion, he’d googled that  joint pain treatment video for Kenma countless times. “At this point, everyone knows. Besides, it’s a good conversation topic at parties. I don’t have to think about the answer.”

Kuroo couldn’t say he understood, so he shrugged and sat there with Akaashi until the wind caught Akaashi’s empty plastic cup and they both went chasing after it to throw it away.

 

===/\===

After training, coach waved Kuroo over.

“I’ve agreed to a spar,” said Nekomata, holding out a clipboard. “I’ll leave it to you to work out the details, and do a little research on their players.”

Kuroo took the clipboard.

The first name on the list was _Sawamura Daichi._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u like pls commnt or change ur pic to the good luck exam cabbage its like the same thing  
> i feel like im gon regret writing that tmr mornig  
> i need sleep


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